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Nabiki had watched her female classmate’s reactions to Xian Mao as he followed Ranma back to school that afternoon. She knew that there had to be some way to cash in on that reaction, but how? She also had to admit that she wasn’t immune…
Since there were no appointments for the rest of the afternoon, Dr. Tofu had given Xian Mao the rest of the day off. So the priest and the martial artist had returned to Furinken… Ranma had returned to class, and Xian Mao would wait outside. A good opportunity for meditation, something he’d not had time to do for too long.
"’Ey!" someone called out to him, disturbing his inner peace. "Wot’s wit’ da t’reds an’ da hair? An why ain’t ya in class, Keiki? Das agains’ da rules!"
Only reflex was able to stop something from impacting his head. Without thinking, Xian Mao rolled away from the onslaught, and turned to face his opponent.
"<Ah, shit,>" he thought. "<What kinda crazy wears anything like -that-?>"
The crazy in question was, of course, wearing a very, very loud Hawaiian shirt. In one hand was what appeared to be a razor of some kind.
"You fas’, Keiki, but dis kahuna fas’er!" the psycho with the strange accent attacked him again. Xian Mao might not have understood what danger he was in, at first. He had no experience with the insane principal of Furinkan High School, nor even heard stories. But the incredibly ‘loud’ thoughts that were near-universal throughout Nerima were also present in this adversary.
‘Shave head, shave head, shave head,’ echoed through Xian Mao’s psyche like a mantra.
Xian Mao had very few vanities, and one of them was his hair. When one grows up surrounded by shaved-headed monks, one tends in that direction or the exact opposite. Truly told, Xian Mao was even more vain about his hair than Ranma; it was a symbol: that he was not a monk, that he would not be celibate, that he -would- find a woman to love and to marry. That this lunatic whom he’d never seen before wished to take that from him enraged Xian Mao on every level of his being.
The young priest’s battle aura flared to life: icy silver-blue… like his eyes.
He intercepted the charging madman with a two-palm strike similar to the Hadoken. His sheers-wielding attacker hit palms and aura simultaneously, and was driven back by a Ki-blast just this side of true sorcery. Xian Mao followed up with a roundhouse kick to the head, driving his adversary into the earth, then stepped back, flowing into the Claw. He crouched, like an animal, one ‘paw’ reared back and ready to strike.
"Dis kahuna think he gonna find somewhere else ta play…" the madman said, running back into the school…
Somehow, only two people noticed the fight: Tendou Nabiki, and Gosunkugi Hikaru.
The former was curious, again. Xian Mao could hold off the principal as well as his son. There was something different about the way he fought, versus the way everyone else she knew fought… -that- was it! Nabiki suddenly realized what was so strange about Xian Mao: he didn’t put on a show. He fought cleanly and efficiently. Nothing fancy, unless it was called for. She didn’t practice martial arts, herself, but living at the dojo as she did, and constantly surrounded by martial artists, she had picked up enough theory from their boasting to know that while he might not be as good or as strong as most of the others she knew (Ranma, Ryouga, Shampoo, Ukyou, and so on), he was good enough to do serious damage… and chose not to. He was frugal with his power, using exactly what was needed to get it done -now-, much like Ranma or Cologne in that he did not use more than was necessary, but unlike them he did not toy with his opponent: he crushed them. Nabiki could appreciate and admire that.
The later, on the other hand, was frightened. The so-called "Voodoo Spike" Gosunkugi was not powerful. He could barely be said to actively practice the arcane ways. But he -was- sensitive to some degree… enough that he could feel what Xian Mao had done, at least. He had felt the concussive shock of Xian Mao’s Ki blast. And he had seen the shimmering, black, feline aura that had surrounded the strange new boy after he had moved into a defensive position. The power the new boy seemed to command frightened the would-be occultist. Frightened him very badly.
Xian Mao stared at Nabiki, shocked from hormonal mode back into genuine conscious thought.
"Say again?"
"I said: ‘I see you had an encounter with our principal.’"
Xian Mao groaned. "Is that maniac truly in charge of this school?"
"Yip." She said, smiling sweetly. Xian Mao was almost as fun to poke as Ranma!
"<Ye Blessed Gods…>"
"What was that?" she asked, smiling again to watch him blush. Xian Mao was very good at hiding how girl-shy he could be, but push enough… this was so much fun!
"Doesn’t translate…" he mumbled, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and tugging on his earring. Unfortunately, the shock did not last long. Already, he was having to force down images and feelings that stemmed wholly from the fact that Tendou Nabiki was an attractive, well-built female. Thanks be to the gods that she wasn’t fertile… he’d be barely able to talk to her for all the effort controlling the animal within would require. That was one aspect of the Neko-ken that had almost no advantage… the animal senses only amplified the animal urges, and when in the city… the noise level gave him an almost constant headache.
To Xian Mao’s relief, Ranma wasn’t far behind Nabiki.
At least, he was relieved at first.
"Hey Ranma, did you hear what your new friend did?"
Xian Mao groaned as Nabiki poked and prodded him into telling Ranma about his encounter with Principal Kuno.
The two young men faced off in the Tendou’s yard.
"You sure you can take me on?" Ranma asked.
"No." Xian Mao confessed, shrugging. "I’m fully aware that you could accidentally kill me."
"Then why…"
"Because I feel that the best way to begin training you is to see what you -already- know. Besides, I was hoping I might learn something."
"You train me, I train you?" Ranma asked, grinning.
"Something like that."
"Why not? Sure!"
And that was how Ranma and Xian Mao came to the agreement that they would train one another in their respective Arts: the Neko-ken, and the Saotome School of Indiscriminate Grappling.
Xian Mao nodded, bowed, and pulled off his shirt. There was a bandanna wrapped around one of his biceps, and he used that to tie his hair back out of his face
Ranma just assumed a fighting stance and waited for the other young man to make his move.
The problems began right off the bat. Xian Mao was fast and agile, strong and quick… compared to any normal human, even most martial artists. Compared to Ranma, however, his only advantage was agility, and that wasn’t worth much. There’s only so much one can pull their punches, and even that wasn’t enough. The young priest got the snot beat out of him.
"That was educational," Xian Mao groaned as he got up from the ground.
"What’s the matter?" Ranma asked, "I thought you were a martial artist?"
Xian Mao gave the red-shirted boy a sour look. "I am. Frankly, I think your problem is that you don’t know how good you are."
"Oh, that’s right!" Nabiki called from her spectator’s perch on the porch. "Swell his head even more!"
The exasperated young priest turned his withering gaze toward her. She just smiled and waved.
"What do you mean, I don’t know how good I am?" demanded Ranma.
Xian Mao looked at him accusingly. "You see yourself as good, but nothing more. You fail to recognize the skills of others, and take them seriously, because it does not occur to you that anyone could be less than you. After all, you were trained by that looser who calls himself your father—and I just picked those words out of your head, so don’t get mad at me, it’s -your- thought—so if you can be as good as you are, why isn’t anyone better?"
Xian Mao sighed, and looked into Ranma’s shocked eyes.
"I’m sorry Ranma, but that’s not quite the case. Look around you: Kuonji Ukyou has incredible skill and strength, and looks to have even greater potential… if only she took fighting seriously. Kuno Tatewake could be an excellent martial artist, if only he’d stop posturing, and allow into his mind the possibility that he might loose. Tendou Akane has the potential to be at least as good as Ukyou, if only she would control and channel her anger. And you… you, to reach your true potential, must come to terms with yourself as you are."
The priestly young man grinned, bringing levity back to the situation.
"So. What’s your analysis of -me-?"
Ranma smiled, regaining his composure.
"Well," he said, taking a sort of ‘teacher’ stance, "to begin with you’re slow. On my worst day, I can move a hundred times as fast. Speed training’s easy, though. Second, you don’t seem to have any idea how to deal with airborne attacks. Everything you do is ground-based. Around here, that could get you in trouble: people’s feet almost never touch the ground during a fight. Again, fairly easy to deal with: teach you a few, you’ll learn how to counter them. Your next problem links back to the first: you seem to think about every move before you do it. Wrong. Bad. You need to move as much by instinct as anything else. The only solution for that is practice."
Xian Mao nodded. "Thank you. Will you give me this training I need? As agreed, I shall train you in the Mao Fu."
For once in his life, Ranma picked up on the formal tone of the other boy’s voice, and responded appropriately: "Yes. I will train you, and be trained by you."
From the porch, a startled Nabiki looked up from changing the film in her camera. What had she heard? Was Ranma growing a brain? Once again, the new boy had surprised her, and this time it was inarguably a pleasant surprise.
Of course, she was in a good mood anyway. When Xian Mao had taken off his shirt, she’d figured out where the profit came in: pictures. Photographs.
Girls were just as interested in beefcake pictures as boys were in the female variety. However, despite being surrounded by attractive young men, she’d not been able to tap that market. Girls just weren’t interested in people who were already taken… or, at least, they didn’t admit to it as readily as boys did. And, of the list, Ranma was Akane’s, so was Ryouga (besides, he was a little -too- built, and a little on the stupid side), Mousse was Shampoo’s, and Kuno was a moron who’d given his heart to Akane and the "pig-tailed-girl"… a woman who didn’t exist.
Xian Mao, on the other hand, was clean. He was well built, a martial artist, and most importantly, single. Thinking back on the shots of him sparing with Ranma, she hoped the fluid grace that had captured the hearts and hormones of so many of her class mates had been captured on film.
Then, she saw him begin to teach Ranma to dance… actually, it was Tai Chi. Probably the only martial art Ranma didn’t know, and finished changing her film -fast-.
These pictures would make the others almost worthless.
"Are you familiar with Tai Chi?" Xian Mao had asked Ranma, somewhere toward the middle of Nabiki’s reverie.
"Not really," Ranma had confessed.
"Then let us begin there."
And so the priest began teaching the warrior to dance.
Ranma was a quick study, and caught on to all of the more simple movements and sequences almost instantly. So Xian Mao moved on to some of the more advanced things, which Ranma also caught.
Caught, but failed to master.
It irritated Ranma, but he was consoled by his teacher’s assurances that only practice could bring true mastery. So they practiced, working through the movements over and over again, in each of the Eight Directions. Again and again they did it, Nabiki snapping pictures all the while, until at last, as the sun began to set, Ranma’s aura flared to life around him. So lost in the meditative movements he was, that he didn’t even notice. His teacher, on the other hand, did.
Xian Mao led him through a final rotation of the Eight Directions, allowing his own aura to flare up: icy silver-blue to Ranma’s bright firey blue. More photos, before Xian Mao called halt.
"You have learned well," Xian Mao told Ranma, bowing. "Continue to practice until every fiber of your being becomes aware. Then practice more until you cannot -cease- to be aware. It will not come tonight, do not worry. I will teach you more in time. Tomorrow night, however, you will teach me!"
Nabiki had not been the only one watching the training session. The entire Tendou household had found themselves a perch from which to view the two young men. They could not hear what was said, but they could guess… most with minimal accuracy, though.
Soun cried that maybe Ranma would be able to take over the dojo: he already had a student.
Genma boasted, trying to take the credit for Ranma’s skill and his prowess in defeating Xian Mao.
Kasumi watched with mild interest, but was far more concerned with the way local Chi flow seemed to warp itself around and through Xian Mao.
Akane just stared, refusing to allow herself to think.
Happosai was worried. He’d seen or heard of this boy somewhere before. Who was he? What did he want at the dojo? At least it wasn’t Tarou… couldn’t be. He called himself Xian Mao. Immortal Cat. A tad bit of arrogance, there, on the part of his parents… but it rang True, and one did not get to be as old as Happosai or Cologne without being sensitive to such things…
[<Honored and respected Elder,>] Xian Mao began, carefully inking the delicate calligraphy.
[<I am in Nerima, Tokyo, and have located Saotome Ranma. It was fairly simple, truly told.>]
He paused, wondering where to go from there.
[<That, however, is where the problems begin….>]
The young man briefly outlined the various problems he had so far encountered with training Ranma. Then came his own problems.
[<And there’s this girl…>]
Xian Mao watched carefully over Tofu Ono’s shoulder as he set the schoolboy’s leg.
"How’d that happen?" he asked, noting the shiatsu points the doctor had hit to numb the pain.
"I was having a really bad day, and Kuno-sempai was rambling on about how he would have his ‘lovely Akane’ and his ‘goddess in pigtails’. I just got fed up, and told him that Akane would never have him—hell, no woman would, and the pig-tailed-girl… everyone knows she’s just Ranma." The boy winced. "Then he kicked the shit out of me."
Xian Mao nodded, applying the techniques to the boys arms.
"I’ve noticed that Tatewake-sama* seems to have a tenuous grip on reality," he commented. "He attacked me the other day ago while I was talking to Tendou Akane-san, yelling about me being ‘too familiar’ with her. When I took him down, he accused me of sorcery."
The boy nodded. "He’s always rambling on about the ‘vile sorcerer Saotome’."
Xian Mao shook his head, and finished wrapping the boys assortment of cuts and contusions. "I don’t know Ranma-san very well yet, but I can assure you he’s not a sorcerer."
"Oh?" the boy asked jokingly, "How can you tell? -You- a sorcerer?"
Xian Mao met his eyes with perfect calm.
"As a matter of fact, yes."
"Are you really?" Dr. Tofu asked after the boy’s parents had come to pick him up. "A sorcerer, I mean."
Xian Mao shrugged, "Yes, in the most literal sense. I do practice magick, or sorcery, but… I would have trouble qualifying myself as something that great. I don’t know the gradations of power in Japanese, however. So ‘sorcerer’ must do."
Tofu nodded. "Is any of what you know applicable to the healing arts?"
"A little."
"Care to pay your rent, then?"
"Why not?"
Nabiki was making a killing. She’d been forced to be careful with Kuno, he was a limited market and could only support so much. The female population of Furinkan, however, was another story entirely. She sold pictures at 750 a piece, 1500 for sets of three, and 2000 for sets of five. She was also taking orders for poster-sized images—there were a few in particular that had received so many requests that she was almost ready to put them out in a separate line—for which she would charge somewhere between 1500 to 2500.
The money was just poring in.
She did feel a little guilty about exploiting Xian Mao. He didn’t even live with them, after all, but he was a potential source of damage to the dojo and the household, so he might as well pay for it… even if indirectly.
Her sister and Ranma, on the other hand, did not see it that way.
"Look," she’d told them flatly. "Have you ever been able to stop me from selling pictures of you? No? Then why think you can stop me now?"
Besides, with this better source of income, she’d not been forced to continue selling to Kuno. That had, over time, become distasteful. She knew that this market would not last as long, but it would produce hundreds upon hundreds of times the profit. As long as she kept the demand up.
Why, with this much money coming in, she could even afford to keep a few copies for herself…
The last appointment of the day found their way out of Dr. Tofu’s clinic at around three forty-five. Xian Mao would take a quick shower—a luxury he had come to adore—change into clothing more suitable to training, and head out to the Tendou dojo.
Shampoo threw his schedule off, however, but arriving just as he stepped out of the shower. Fortunately, she arrived at the front door (yes, Shampoo actually -does- know how to use a door), and the bath room was on the other end of the building, and barely six paces from his room. So, he was -mostly- dressed when she opened his bedroom door.
"<Nihao!>"
"Gaaaah!"
"<Oh, sorry. I’ll come back in a little bit.>"
Xian Mao laughed, blushing. He was only naked from the waist up, he just been startled.
"<No, you can stay. You just scared me.>"
She put on her best ‘innocent look’. "Shampoo scary?"
It was all Xian Mao could do to stand up, he was laughing so hard. Shampoo giggled as she tipped him over, then joined him on the floor laughing as he kicked her feet out from under her. She retaliated by tickling him—finding Xian Mao’s ticklish spots wasn’t difficult… he had a good deal of them. He responded in kind.
It was quarter after four by the time they had settled down. The two teenagers picked themselves up and dusted themselves off, still smiling broadly. Then Xian Mao startled Shampoo, taking her in a quick bear hug.
"<You’re a good friend, Xian Pu,>" he told her, letting her out of the embrace.
"<Th-thank you…>"
As Xian Mao vaulted down the road to the Tendou’s he wondered why Shampoo had been so reluctant to come with him. He’d made the suggestion innocently enough—Ranma was her husband, after all.
There was the problem!
The realization struck him so hard that he almost tripped on an imperfection in the sidewalk. He wasn’t. He never would be. He was Akane’s, and she knew it. That was why he’d been washed with psychic pain just before she’d thrown up her shields. Her smile had died, and she’d quietly said ‘no’, using the window as an exit.
He’d been a fool, and had possibly damaged their budding friendship.
Regaining his balance, Xian Mao sighed gustily. He could think about that later. Right now he had training to do, and this was the sort of thing that would distract him. A little guilty, he closed that off into a small, secret corner of his mind.
When he reached the Tendou dojo, Ranma was waiting for him. Impatiently.
"It’s four thirty." The young martial artist stated flatly. "You’re half an hour late."
Xian Mao shrugged. "I could explain, if you wanted me to."
"Do." Apparently Ranma took his position as teacher -very- seriously.
"First, Dr. Tofu’s appointments ran a little late. I couldn’t get cleaned up until quarter to four. Then Shampoo stopped by, and we talked briefly… not good enough for you, I suppose, but…"
Ranma shrugged. "You’ll just have to work harder to make up for the lost time. Why’d Shampoo show up?"
"Because we’re friends. She may be your wife, Ranma, but even if you did want her, you wouldn’t have the right or strength to control her movements."
"She’s not my wife! And what do you mean by ‘even if I did want her’?"
Xian Mao met Ranma’s eyes and brought his considerable Will to bear on the young man’s mind. It wasn’t outright Suggestion, just a priestly trick to make one listen to what one had to say.
"You -don’t- want her, do you?"
"No, but…"
"But what?"
Ranma just gaped, his self-confidence in this sort of situation an absolute zero.
"You are her husband. By Amazon law, you were wed the instant you defeated her. That law supersedes whatever insult you may have given back at the village. You don’t want her, though, and that hurts her a whole lot… I know: I’m her friend and she sometimes lets down her empathic shields with me. I can feel every twinge, want to or not. She doesn’t want to marry you, but she doesn’t have a choice."
"What do you mean she doesn’t want…" Ranma exploded. "Almost every day, she glomps onto me! Almost every day, I get hit by Akane and sometimes half a dozen other people ‘cause she jumps me!
"And what do you mean, she doesn’t have a choice? If she didn’t want to chase me, why would she?"
It is perhaps fortunate that Akane was nowhere around to hear that particular conversation. It had strong overtones of Ranma -wanting- to be chased.
Xian Mao struck Ranma across the face in a vicious slap.
"She does so because she must. It his her duty to wed you, to bear your child. It is her honor, and her family’s, at stake. And, perhaps most importantly, it is her great-grandmother’s wish that she wed you. It is part of her atonement for ‘allowing’ herself to be defeated. She is to be heir to Cologne’s position on the Council of Elders, and it is imperative that her honor be spotless."
Ranma continued to gape at Xian Mao. "What? How do you?"
"I know because I squeezed it out of what I had: things she and Cologne said, and my own knowledge of Chinese tradition and Amazon law."
Xian Mao glared at Ranma for a few moments more.
"Now, can we get back to training?"
* the ‘sama’ suffix can be used condescendingly, as it is in this case, with sarcasm. It comes off as ‘o mister high and mighty’. No, Xian Mao isn’t a native speaker, but he’s empathic and he did go thru’ Tokyo… he would have picked up no few insults and how to use them.